“It has been too long.” Then she moved so that Ian could meet her. “Mr. Daivya, this is Annabelle, a close friend of Elder Smoke Speaker. She used to live in town, and made sure we were cared for during the rough winter months.”
Ian shook Annabelle’s hand when she offered it, his mind going over the chances of meeting with a dead soul Whisper and the Elder knew in the Land of the Dead. Slim to none, was his guess, unless something fishy was going on.
The woman looked trustworthy, though, and kind, if not a bit frumpy. She was short, with close-cropped brown hair, a large smile, and almond-shaped eyes. The thick buckskin dress she wore didn’t do much to hide her wide hips and thick legs, and her bare feet were filthy.
“Scuba-diving,” Annabelle said when Ian merely stared.
“I’m sorry?”
“I made a silly mistake, and it cost me my life. I went scuba-diving without a partner and ran out of air before I could make it back to the surface. The last thing I remember is thinking about my dear, sweet husband and how I’d never see him again.” Annabelle wiped at a tear and sniffled. “I was only thirty-eight, Mr. Daivya, and I wasn’t ready to go. But I haven’t forgotten my loved ones, including the Elder and this little firecracker over here.” She playfully ran a hand through Whisper’s hair, and Ian was shocked when his guide let her do so.
“How long has it been, Kanegv?”
“…Seven years.”
“That long?” Annabelle still remembered her old life as freshly as if she had just died yesterday. Unlike the others, she refused to let go, and it saddened her to think that she had been away from her loved ones for seven years. And unlike other dead souls, she was yet to find peace with her death. “Well…no use being bothered over such things, right? Whisper, I have a message from the Elder. He says it is urgent.”
The relaxed look on Whisper’s face tightened into one of distress. “What does he say?”
Annabelle hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at Ian. “The Elder wished only for you to hear the message.” Whisper nodded. “Ian, my home is just over there, the one with the little clay pot outside the door. You may set your things inside, and have a bite to eat.”
It bothered him that he was being deliberately kept out of the loop, but there was no sense arguing, and Annabelle waited until he had ducked inside her home to continue. She faced the young woman she had known for nearly fifteen years, not at all fazed by those dark eyes and intense stare.
“Smoke Speaker says you must hurry,” Annabelle said quickly. “He says that he fears his age is catching up with him, because he cannot hold the fog much longer. I’m not sure what that means, but hopefully you do.”
The news fell like a jagged rock in the pit of her stomach. “…Is he safe?”
“Yes, but he says that Ian’s wife is suspicious, and that he fears the police may come back. He says you must finish your journey as quickly as possible, Whisper, because there isn’t much time. Not as much as you both thought.”
“Did he mention the safest route to get there?”
“Yes.” Annabelle reached out for her friend’s hand. “He says he will do his best to provide you with guides along the way, but you must travel west, through the Weeping Forest and find a woman there from the Deer Clan who will be waiting for you. He didn’t know her name. Whisper…you must go to the base of the Fire Mountains. And cross the Barren Plains.”
Inside the hut, Ian lowered himself to a floor made of thin but tightly-woven vines that had been flattened for comfort. Clay pots decorated with pictures of animals and nature were stacked in each corner, but the tree-log walls were bare. Along the wall adjacent to where Ian was sitting was a small straw bed, and a hole had been cut out in the center of the hut’s roof to allow for smoke to pass through. A fire hearth had been built in the middle of the floor, where a clay bowl filled with a mushy green substance was cooking. It looked disgusting and smelled like a mixture of turnip greens, fresh fish, and cabbage, but it made his mouth water.
Suddenly ravenous for the strange concoction, Ian leaned over the bowl and stirred the green pottage with the wooden spoon resting next to the hearth. He remembered something Whisper had said about food being different for the dead, and she must have been right, because he never would have even considered eating whatever was in the bowl when he was alive.
“Crota.”
Ian turned to see Whisper and Annabelle duck into the hut and fasten the cloth door on a hook behind them. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s called Crota.” Annabelle picked up three wooden plates and spooned generous helpings on each. “Our vegetables here are a bit different than you’re used to.”
“Obviously.”
“Eating is a necessity in life,” Whisper offered her own bit of information as she accepted the plate from her old friend. “In death, it is a luxury, even in this dark place. The dead do not need to eat, but it does give one a sense of humanity. That is one thing the Raven-Eater has not yet taken away.”
Cautiously, Ian lifted the bowl and sniffed. His stomach growled in response. He didn’t hear Annabelle’s pleased laughter when he devoured the food, and thoroughly enjoyed every bite.
When dinner was over, Annabelle rose to her feet and gathered the plates. “Well, you two, I’m off. I’ll be visiting with my friend just across the plaza tonight. Have a good night.”
“You do not need to leave, Annabelle.”
“My dear, this hut is barely big enough for me, let alone three grown people, and you two need your rest. And Whisper, could I have a word with you?”
Whisper followed Annabelle out of the hut and guided her behind the home, where they could have a bit of privacy. “What is it, Annabelle?” she asked, concerned by the sad look on the woman’s face.
Annabelle shuffled from foot to foot. “Whisper, I wanted to ask about…well, about my Joe. He must be…almost fifty now.” She sighed heavily, remembering her beloved husband. “He was so good to me, Whisper. He made me so happy. I laughed every day with him.”
“You were a wonderful couple.”
“Yeah, well…”Annabelle took in a deep breath. “I was just wondering…and I probably shouldn’t even ask this…but did Joe ever remarry?” She knew it was a terrible question, for if the answer were in the affirmative she surely would be miserable for the rest of eternity. Whisper only frowned and lowered her eyes to the ground. She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to break the heart of a woman who was so good to her and Smoke Speaker.
“Whisper? He did, didn’t he? Whisper, you can tell me….Did he?”
“No, he never took another wife,” Whisper said quietly, shaking her head slightly, regretting what she was about to say. “Annabelle……Joe passed away two years ago. He was hit by a car on the way to work. He is…he is in the Spirit World.”
Whisper wasn’t prepared for Annabelle to drop to her knees at the news. She stood before her old friend, startled, as the distraught woman began to weep, covering her face with dirt-stained hands. Grief racked her body as she rocked back and forth.
“My Joe,” she cried softly in between sobs. “He…was…so young…I always hoped…prayed…we would meet here.” Through a glaze of tears she peered up at the young woman who had never been known to shed a single tear. “I’ll never see him again, will I? I’ll never see my Joe?”
Although she didn’t completely understand love and all emotions that came with it, Whisper could feel the pain that vibrated off the grieving woman in tumultuous waves. It was a deep pain, one that clutched her heart and filled her head with confusing murmurs that spun around one another in a bewildering dance of sensation. It was too much for one person to bear, and the whispers in the dark that slammed against one another inside her head was enough to make her press a hand to her forehead and squeeze her eyes shut in defiance of the emotions.
“Annabelle.”
Whisper shook her head to clear her confused mind and lowered herself to her friend’s level, resting a gentle hand on her sho
ulder. “I can offer you a place in the Spirit World, so that you may be with your loved one.”
Annabelle sniffled and raised her head. Hope and guilt tore at her. “I…I can’t ask for that, Whisper. That gift is not meant for me.”
“It is mine to give, and I choose you,” Whisper replied softly but firmly, relieved when the grief swirling in her head began to fade. “You were kind to me in the living world, and kind to Elder Smoke Speaker. I have never forgotten all you did for us, and now the favor shall be returned.”
A place in the Spirit World was something Annabelle could not imagine. Seven years in the Land of the Dead had stripped her thoughts of any spiritual world greater than the place of dark skies with a red and purple sunset. But Joe, Joe she remembered. Her dreams were filled with images of his tall, lanky frame, his thick brown hair that curled at his ears, his bright green eyes that sparkled in the sun. And his voice, so deep with just the slightest hint of a southern accent, met her ears every morning in greeting. He had been her entire life.
Annabelle watched as Whisper reached down and untied the pouch at her waist. Faith, something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time, tingled in her belly. She listened closely when the young Cherokee woman whispered a prayer, but couldn’t comprehend the meaning. Annabelle had learned some of the language from the Elder, but not much more than a few phrases here and there.
“Kanegv.” Annabelle stopped her by closing a hand over Whisper’s own that was clutching the pouch. “You must tell him the truth.”
“He will know, when the time is right.”
“Whisper….” Annabelle wanted to argue, to emphasize the importance of honesty, especially when lives were at stake. But she stopped when Whisper reached into the pouch and produced a pinch of gold dust. Her eyes widened at the sight of such brilliant, sparkling color that shone against the dark of the Land of the Dead.
Whisper lifted her hand, offering Annabelle one final smile. “Didayolihvdvgalenisgv, unalii.”
“Goodbye, my friend,” Annabelle whispered back, closing her eyes. “Wado.”
Just as a light breeze traveled in from the east, a sign of new life for the deceased, Whisper blew the golden dust over Annabelle. It shimmered and flickered across her body, surrounding her in a cocoon of pale light. The dead soul shimmered life, an essence of redemption and sanctuary, as her feet rose from the ground, lifting her in a golden sphere. And then she disappeared from the Land of the Dead.
“You’re welcome,” Whisper answered to the air, her lone reply traveling the wind.
When Whisper returned to the hut, Ian’s face was full of questions. She turned her back to him to avoid his gaze and instead settled down onto Annabelle’s straw bed. She wasn’t tired, but the incredible sensation of feeling Annabelle’s grief and hearing her agonizing thoughts weakened her soul, and that was something that had never happened before.
“Everything alright?” Ian asked cautiously.
Whisper laid back and covered her eyes with an arm. “We will rest for a short time, then continue.”
He hated her answers. Just about every one she offered told him absolutely nothing, and he wasn’t sure if that was simply how she was, or if she refused to tell him anything because she held no respect for him.
It may help, he thought as he spooned another bowlful of Crota, to get to know her a little.
“So…why do you live with Smoke Speaker?”
Whisper lifted her arm just long enough to shoot Ian a cautious glance. “What do you mean, Mr. Daivya?”
Ian swallowed a mouthful of the delicious food and hoped that when he returned to the living world he would remember the splendid taste. “I mean, why don’t you live with your parents?”
“My father treated me terribly.”
“What about your mom?”
“She was weak.”
“Oh…so where does the Elder come in?”
“He took me away when I was young, and brought me to the mountains where I would be safe.”
She spoke without any emotion, he thought. She didn’t seem affected by her past, or concerned about being taken away. Either she had accepted being an orphan long ago, to parents who may or may not have been dead, in prison, or searching for their lost daughter, or there was something she wasn’t telling him. Regardless, Ian felt for her. It was unfair for a child to be forced to grow up without the guidance of a mother and father, or at least one of the two.
“Do you remember your mother?”
“A bit.”
“Any siblings?”
“No.”
Her cryptic, nonchalant answers told him she wasn’t well-accustomed to small talk. Ian observed her for a moment. Lying on the bed with her face half-covered, she didn’t move a muscle. The only sign of life was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her black hair was spread all around her, pants ripped at the knees, boots muddy. Her forearms and shoulders were covered with scratches that matched his own, evidence of their venture through the woods. With her arm lifted and a hole torn into the side of her shirt along her ribs, he saw the word Gohiyudi inked in her flesh.
Ian finished the helping of Crota and set the bowl aside, lying down next to the warm fire and placing a bulky blanket beneath his head. “So…you got a boyfriend back home? Husband…Girlfriend?”
Whisper scoffed, slightly amused. “No.”
“Any prospects?”
“No.”
“Too busy saving little kids from a raven-eating bastard, huh?”
Baffled by his sudden interest in her life, Whisper uncovered her eyes and rolled onto her side. Ian was peering back at her with what she judged to be genuine interest, and she was willing to speak freely with the man if he was willing to forgo arrogance.
“Some things are not meant for everyone, Mr. Daivya. Love was not meant for me.”
She said it matter-of-factly, so Ian knew it wasn’t a declaration made for pity. “Why would you say that?”
Whisper shrugged indifferently. “Love clouds the mind with matters of the heart. I vowed to become the Elder’s apprentice, and so I must remain focused.”
“Yeah, but…doesn’t that get lonely?”
“Loneliness is for those who refuse to see the world around them, Mr. Daivya. My life has not been empty. I have had the Elder, and friends like Annabelle. I have the creatures of the earth, those who accept who and what I am without prejudice.”
It sounded like an excuse to Ian, and there was something in her voice, the slightest hint of wistfulness, that made him think she was lying even to herself. He knew that every woman wanted to be loved, no matter who raised them, what future they were being trained for, or their ability to speak to the wind, and this one was no different.
“Well, I think you’re missing out,” Ian said in a tone reminiscent of a father speaking to a daughter. “You should be open to love. Love makes your life worth living.”
Whisper’s eyes narrowed at his hypocrisy, but her irritation was soothed by his genuine concern. “If you have been granted a life filled with love, Mr. Daivya, then you should cherish it, and fight for those who hold your heart.”
She was calling him out, and he knew it, but because he refused to admit defeat he merely waved a hand in her direction. “You’re still young, Whisper. You have plenty of time. Hell, I’ve got a guy who works for me about your age, good guy, working through med school. I’ll have him give you a call.”
There was sadness tugging at the corners of her heart, but she ignored it and lay back down. “You should rest, Mr. Daivya. We have quite a walk ahead of us.”
Chapter 17
This time they would get answers.
Sheriff Ray Forbe, Deputy Duff, and Julia and her sister stalked through the woods to Howling Vines. The men were determined to uncover the truth behind Cole’s disappearance, while the women were devising a plan of their own.
The two camps, the police on one side and the family of the missing child on the other, had subconsciously divided themse
lves over the past few days as suspicions intensified and hope waned. The police had decided that Ian Daivya and Whisper were accomplices in the death of Cole Daivya, while Julia had come to suspect that they were off on a search mission of their own, with the Elder leading the quest. It had been two weeks since Cole disappeared, and many of the volunteers had given up and gone home. The police and local townspeople had done their best to keep the story quiet, as none wanted the national media sniffing around for a lead, but once Forbe formerly declared Ian a suspect he knew all hell would break loose.
When they reached Howling Vines, the clearing was unoccupied. The fire, set in a stone hearth, was burning low with a cooked rabbit propped over the heat, and the hide that covered the opening to the hut was fastened shut. Everything was still and quiet, eerily so.
“Elder?” Forbe strode over to the fire, where the Elder usually rested. “Smoke Speaker! We need to talk!”
“You need not shout, Mr. Forbe.” Forbe spun around as Elder Smoke Speaker stepped out of his hut, letting the hide fall into place behind him. His voice was heavy with sleep, and he stretched as he came over to the foursome. He sat at his fire and stoked the embers with a long stick. “What may I do for you?”
Forbe squatted and glared at the Elder over the fire. “I want to know everything you know about Cole Daivya.”
“The missing child?”
“Yes, the missing child,” Forbe answered impatiently. Julia and Lisa backed away, not wanting the sleepy Elder to think they were any part of the officer’s rant. “I want to know where Ian Daivya and Whisper are, where they went, why they went there, and what you know about the child’s disappearance.”
“I know what your workers have told me.”
He didn’t believe the old man. “Where is your apprentice?”
Smoke Speaker sighed. “I have not seen Whisper since the day she took Mr. Daivya into the woods.” Even though he was telling the truth, he could read the disbelief in the Police Chief’s face. “If you see them, please tell Whisper that she is needed. My garden is suffering in her absence.”
Forbe muttered a curse to himself, not at all amused by his attempt at misdirection. “Elder, this isn’t a game. If you can’t tell me where Whisper and Ian are, and if you can’t produce any evidence that they had nothing to do with Cole’s disappearance, then I have no choice but to put them on my list of suspects.”
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